


Six Miles High

by Malibusunset



Category: The X-Files
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-16
Updated: 2017-01-15
Packaged: 2018-09-17 19:51:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9340655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Malibusunset/pseuds/Malibusunset





	1. Chapter 1

Title:                           Six Miles High

Author:                      Malibu Sunset

Rating:                       PG-13 (Sexual references and language)

Categories:              Vignette, Third Person POV, MSR, Scully/Other component from the past, sort of AU

Timeline:                  Season 7, sometime in the neighborhood of All Things. Scully is still wondering if she’s actually going steady or not.   

Summary:                Remember Ethan?

Disclaimer:               I do not own any of these characters. Including the one who is telling this story, even though he never actually appeared in the Series.

Author’s Email                [malibusunset88@gmail.com](mailto:malibusunset88@gmail.com)

 

                                                                        Feedback appreciated and answered. Thank you for reading.

                                   

 

 

He folds the sections of newspaper together neatly and tosses them onto the empty vinyl chair next to him with a disgruntled huff. Since when did the editorials start reading like excerpts from the National Enquirer? He’d heard that the Times had taken on a new editor-in-chief, but the name was unfamiliar to him, which was unusual. He made a point of staying well-connected. Although, he’d made a substantial career within broadcast journalism, it never hurt to keep your options open.

There was a time, several years ago, when getting out of D.C. had been an attractive thought, but then he’d met Victoria and career mobility had taken a back seat to his personal life for a time. Single once again since last summer, maybe it’s time to reconsider a change of scenery. He sighs and shifts in his seat to look out the rain-streaked airport windows. If you can overlook the shitty weather, Seattle isn’t a bad place. A buddy of his from college settled here. They don’t keep in touch, but he could look him up.

The United sign at the airline kiosk tells him that he still has about forty minutes until his flights boards. A woman hauling two toddlers and a stroller struggles into the two seats next to him and she apologizes profusely when one of the little ones steps all over his outstretched wing tips.

Ethan smiles and picks up his discarded newspaper to make more room for her. “It looks like you’ve got your hands full,” he says, catching the edge of the stroller with one hand before it rolls into the aisle.

Two towheaded boys in matching denim overalls pout in tandem and the mother rummages through a shoulder bag until she comes up with a small plastic container of animal crackers. The boys quiet and stuff their cheeks between sniffles. “Are you on United 287 to Washington?” she asks.

“I am.”  The cracker crunchers, who are squeezed side-by-side into the adjacent seat eye him cautiously and he tries to look non-menacing.

“It’s not delayed, is it?” The woman tugs her hair out of a ponytail and snaps the black elastic band onto her wrist like a bracelet. “If I have to kill any more time in this airport, I’m going to start taking hostages.”

“Better not say that too loud,” he chides. “They’re likely to start searching your diaper bag for a bomb.”

She laughs. “I know, right? I think they already searched everything I own. Try going through security with two eighteen-month olds, a purse, two bags, and a stroller. Zachary, stop poking your brother.”

Ethan gathers his briefcase from the floor and stuffs the paper into the side, then grabs his overcoat. “You look like you could use an extra chair and I could use a coffee,” he says, getting up. “Can I get you anything?”

“No thanks,” she answers, gratefully. “Unless they sell valium.”

“Probably not,” he chuckles. “But I hear United flights come with an excellent selection of adult beverages.”

She points a finger at him. “Good point. With any luck, they’ll sleep through half the flight.”

They don’t look very sleepy to Ethan, but aside from his sister’s kids who he only sees on major holidays, he doesn’t have much experience with children. Not that he doesn’t like them or want them. He does. In fact, that had been one of the deal breakers with Victoria. It took them two years to figure out that they were never going to agree on the issue. She moved to New York eight months ago and left him with a lease on an overpriced condo and the cat he gave her for her birthday. He should’ve known she’d probably never come around to the idea of kids when she didn’t even like the cat.

“If I don’t see you on the flight, good luck,” he says, sympathetically.

“Thanks,” she smiles. “Enjoy your coffee.”

 

He stops in the magazine shop first. Buys a pack of gum and a Kit Kat, then heads further down the concourse toward the Starbucks. He’s standing three people back from a woman in a black pantsuit who catches his eye. There’s a familiarity in her fluid, compact movements. It’s started happening to him again finally – noticing women with more than a passing interest.

It was two days after Victoria moved out before he bothered to shave and go to work, a month before he’d go out with his friends again. One night, he got really drunk and took a girl home with him. Her name was Felicia and she was only twenty-three, but beyond that, the details were sketchy. He felt like an ass for not returning her calls, but it had been a mistake. He was thirteen years older than she was. It had been a long time since he’d used a woman for sex and it didn’t feel any better.

His buddies at work joked about fixing him up. He hadn’t taken them up on it yet, but he was becoming less opposed to the idea.  He’d even considered asking his neighbor out. She was divorced and cute. An anthropology professor. She fed his cat for him when he traveled and she had a nice smile.     

The woman in the black pantsuit turns, sorting through her purse for a wallet and he watches her, studying her profile before swallowing thickly. It couldn’t be. When she tucks a stray lock of hair, redder than he remembers, behind her ear, he’s ninety-eight percent certain. Holy shit.

His eyes follow her as she purchases her coffee and then drags her carry-on bag over to a high top table so she can make a call. She stands with her weight on one hip and a blazer draped over her arm. The coffee shop is noisy and he’s too far away from her to hear her voice, but she’s shaking her head and talking earnestly. Suddenly, her face softens and she lowers her eyes to the table and smiles and any remaining doubt he had melts away like an early morning frost. It’s her.

He’d know those arresting blue eyes anywhere. And that mouth.

**

 

He was kissing her in the shower with his hands sliding up and down her soaped-up slippery bottom as the water went from hot to warm. They’d been at this for a while and they were both going to be late if she didn’t say yes soon or tell him to get his hands off her and go get dressed.

“We’ve got time,” he mumbled to her nipple before fitting his mouth over it.

Her head tilted back and her fingers combed through his wet hair. “No, we don’t.”

His knee nudged her thighs apart.

“Ethan.” Her voice was as silky as her overheated pink skin. “I’ve got forty-five minutes. If there’s traffic on the Beltway, I’m screwed.”

He groaned and gave up her breast, planting a resigned peck just below her ear. “Well at least somebody is.”

Her mouth dropped open and she pinched him.

“Tonight,” he said, kissing her on the lips twice quickly before stepping out of the shower and grabbing a towel. “I’m going to hold you to it.”

“I sure hope so,” she purred, and he almost got back in. 

**

 

“Sir? Sir, can I help you?” Someone taps his elbow and he realizes that the girl at the counter is talking to him.

“Yeah, uh, I’ll have a Venti Latte.”

He stands at the end of the counter and waits for his drink, unable to take his eyes off her. God, she looks different. She was always naturally pretty, but not like this. Now, she looks…polished. Sophisticated.

Damn, she got really, really hot.

He doesn’t remember her wearing lipstick that shade. He watches her plumped lips part as she nods and transfers her cell phone to her left hand so she can write something down.

Her gold cross rests at the hollow of her neck, catching the light. She wears a snug-fitting, crisp white blouse that’s unbuttoned to the point of distraction and a well-tailored pair of black pants that he fears probably look even better from the back. He used to have a very serious thing for her ass.

She pivots forty-five degrees and bends to tuck a piece of paper into her carry-on bag and he almost misses his mouth with the latte. Jesus Christ. Good to know some things haven’t changed.

Her call ends and she gathers her things, shifting her purse onto her shoulder and pulling her bag behind her as she merges into concourse traffic. He follows, tripping over someone’s Reebok and apologizing while trying not to lose sight of her. Her height makes her hard to tail. He weaves like a drunk, avoiding suits, hurried flight attendants and small children on leashes, following the flash of bobbing red. She’d gotten a colorist, a very talented tailor, and some skyscraper heels.

The pertinent question is what the hell is she doing in Seattle? It occurs to him right at about the moment they happen upon the waiting area for United 287. She slows her gait, checks her watch, and approaches the check-in counter and he comes to the vibrant realization that he’s going to be sharing a five hour flight to Washington with her.

Of all the possibilities for this rainy Tuesday in April, crossing paths with his ex-girlfriend after seven years, three thousand miles from home, is about the last thing he expected. Life just might surprise him yet.

Several minutes later, she pulls away from the counter with boarding pass in hand and finds a seat near the windows, tucking her carry-on bag neatly out of the way. Crossing her legs, she pulls a magazine from her bag and takes frequent sips from her paper coffee cup as she flips pages methodically.

With casual strides, he approaches the empty seat next to her until he’s standing no more than two feet away. “Excuse me, Miss, is this seat taken?”

Her eyes dart up as far as his knee caps for a split second, then back down again. “No, I don’t think so,” she replies with a cordial smile, shifting her legs over some.

He stands in front of her awkwardly for a bit before she bothers to look up at him again. Her eyes widen and she lowers her magazine. “Ethan?” she says in astonishment.

“Hello, Dana.”

“Oh my God!” She stands, smoothing the front of her blouse. “I-I don’t believe this!”

They stand looking at one another and smiling while she absorbs the situation. He’s a little ahead of her in that regard. “Wow, Ethan,” she says again. They embrace stiffly, both still holding their Starbucks cups and he manages not to spill anything on her white blouse.

“I thought it was you,” he admits while she’s still shaking her head in disbelief.

“What are you doing in Seattle?” she asks.

“I’ve been here since Friday for a journalism conference. You?”

“I-we’re working a case.” Her left hand comes up to tuck some loose hair behind her ear and he can’t help himself, he checks her third finger.

“By yourself?”

“My partner flew back yesterday,” she replies, crossing her arms and tilting her foot back nervously onto the heel of her shoe.

There’s a thick silence for several more seconds while they stand there smiling politely and sizing each other up. Her skin is flawless, like porcelain. Yes, she definitely looks even more amazing than he remembers. Seven years. God, she’s doing something right.

 He’s suddenly acutely aware that his eyes are crawling over her face like a hovercraft. “You look…uh, really great,” he ventures finally, a puff of air leaving his lungs.

“So do you,” she agrees. The last time she saw him, he was almost thirty years old. He doesn’t think he looks much different, but he could be deluding himself. He’s in better physical shape anyway, even if his hairline is receding some.   

“I like, uh…” he gestures casually to her shorter, sleeker hair. “It looks good on you.”

A blush darkens her cheekbones, a feature of hers he’d always found endearing and girlish. “Thanks,” she says softly.

Yet another silence that he interrupts with a clearing of his throat. “So you’re, uh, heading back to Washington then? It looks like we’re on the same flight.”

She nods. “This is so strange. To run into you here, of all places.”

“I know,” he laughs, his head bobbing a little too emphatically. “We’re right in the same city for seven years and-and nothing. Then I fly all the way across the country and… here you are.”

She gestures politely to the seat next to her, collecting her tossed aside magazine. “Do you want to sit down?”

He does. They do.

He can’t figure out where to put his coffee, so he holds it, grateful to have something to do with his hands. 

“Hey listen,” he interjects abruptly, “I was sorry to hear about your Dad.” Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid. Nice conversation starter, you idiot.

“Thanks,” she replies. “I got your card. I’m sorry, I probably should have called, but…”

“No! I didn’t mean it that way. I didn’t expect you to call. I mean, it was right after, uh, ya know…” we broke up, he doesn’t bother to finish.

 He’s deliberating possible segues, something that doesn’t involve a death in the family or her marital status (he hopes to get to that, but they’re still at small talk) when the boarding announcement is made for first class. Neither of them moves, but he feels a sense of urgency all of a sudden. They’re going to get on that plane and then they’re going to get off again in five hours and that will be it. He digs his boarding pass from the back pocket of his suit pants and checks it. “20D,” he says to her, and then glances down at hers invitingly. It’s bookmarked inside her magazine and he’d trade his new Audi to have it say 20E.

She pulls it and her brows rise a little. “Um, 21A, it looks like.”

He smiles at Lady Luck, who is apparently smiling back at him. “Are you sure you weren’t following me?” he teases.

Her mouth quirks a little. “Well, I am a trained investigator.”

 

 

They chat while he’s searching for his seatbelt and settling into his aisle seat. He keeps twisting his head around to talk to her. So far, nobody has claimed the middle seat next to her window one and he’s keeping his fingers crossed. He gives the evil eye to anyone who makes it back to row 21 without finding their seat yet. Not there, asshole, don’t even think about it.

A slacker in a black hoodie slouches toward her row, his glassy eyes volleying between the row numbers and his boarding pass. “Is this twenty-three?” he asks no one in particular.

“That’s twenty-one,” says Ethan. He peeks at the ticket and then points, helpfully. “You’re two back, in the other window seat.”

“Cool, thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.”

His watch says they’re already five minutes late for take-off. She still has two open seats next to her. His row is full and the guy next to him has claimed the arm rest, so Ethan sits with his hands in his lap, bobbing his leg.

Two minutes later, an older woman takes the aisle seat in Dana’s row, pulls out her paperback, and tucks her quilted floral handbag under the seat in front of her. Ethan curses under his breath. He can’t even give her angry looks because she reminds him of his Nana. Damn.

By the time they get to a cruising altitude and the fasten seatbelt sign turns off, he begins to relax a little. Maybe when they get back to D.C., he’ll suggest they get a cup of coffee together or something. She seemed interested in catching up in the airport.

He steals discreet glances back at her, but the only one noticing it is granny, who smiles knowingly at him over the rim of her bifocals. He’s just the guy trying to pick up the pretty woman sitting next to her.

Dana has her tray table down and her laptop out. Every once in a while, she silently mouths words to herself as she types. Sometimes she captures her bottom lip in her teeth and allows it to slide back through. He wants to stare at her, but it’s downright uncomfortable at this angle and the old lady is starting to size up his stalking potential, so he faces forward with a sigh and closes his eyes.

 

**

When he got back to the table, there was a second round of drinks waiting, some girl sitting in his seat and another standing next to her. Ethan’s buddy, Dan, was saying hello to his girlfriend and it was the kind of hello that made everyone else around them feel uncomfortable.

“The three of us are going to visit the Ladies Room and then grab some drinks,” announced Heather, scooting down from Dan’s lap and grabbing her clutch.

The band came back from break and launched into a cover of an Aerosmith song.

“Who was that?” Ethan yelled across the table.

“Who?” said Dan, flagging down a passing cocktail waitress and handing off their empty bottles.

“Heather’s friend.”

“What, the blonde? That’s Carrie. You met her at the New Year’s Eve party.”

“No, the other one. The shorter one. Blue eyes.”

Dan shrugged. “Some girl Heather went to med school with. Danielle? Donna?”

“I haven’t seen her around before,” said Ethan, casually.

“I don’t think she goes out a lot.”

“She’s a doctor?”

The edges of Dan’s mouth lifted a little. “I think so, I don’t know. Does something with the FBI now. Why the Spanish Inquisition?”

Ethan drank again, leaning over to let some intoxicated people squeeze by. “Just curious, that’s all. She’s cute.”

Dan turned his head to the side and stared out into the crowd, shaking his head and smiling.

“What?” pushed Ethan with a laugh. “Get me her number.”

“I’m not going to get you her number, man.”

“Why not? Just ask Heather for her number.”

“Because you’re not going to call her, that’s why. And then Heather will all over my case about why you didn’t call her friend.”

“I’m going to call her.”

“No, you’re not,” chided Dan. “Besides, she’s too smart for you. She’s like some genius or something.”

“You’re an asshole,” said Ethan.

Dan laughed. “Noted. If you want her number so badly, get it yourself.”

Ethan nodded, challenged. “I will.”

At half past midnight, he bought her a drink and danced with her and they shouted small talk over the churn of the bass. They made their way to the back of the club and hung out by the coat racks where it was cooler. Right before last call, Heather found them and said that Carrie wasn’t feeling well and she and Dan were going to take her home. Could Ethan give Dana a ride back to Georgetown because it was in the opposite direction?

They stopped at an all-night convenience store and bought snacks and then sat in his car talking until the sun came up.

He got her number.

 

**

When Ethan opens his eyes again, the paperback granny is missing and he slides over to her seat. “Hey.”

“Hey,” she says with a side smile, finishing what she’s reading before glancing his way. “Good nap?”

“It was until my neighbor decided that my shoulder was a nice substitution for a pillow. Unfortunately, he’s not my type.” He reaches into his shirt pocket and removes the Kit Kat bar. “Split?”

She makes a pained face, but then nods. “I’ve been eating garbage all weekend. I’m going to pay for it when I go to fit into my clothes.”

He tilts his chin down. “You’re kidding, right? I think you can afford it.”

Her cheeks color again and he enjoys it. She always did have trouble accepting compliments. He breaks the candy bar into two halves and hands her one. She separates the attached sticks into two more pieces and nibbles at one.

“How long was I out for anyway?” he asks, glancing at his Seiko. Not long. They still have three and a half hours to go. He turns his watch ahead to Eastern Standard Time.

The seat’s rightful occupant slides up next to him and Ethan starts to stand, tossing her an apologetic smile. “No, no dear,” says the elderly woman with a hand on his shoulder. “You can stay right there. Just pass me my purse and I’ll take your seat. As long as I’m in the aisle, it doesn’t matter to me.”

“You’re sure?” he asks, tugging her bag free from under the seat. “That’s kind of you. Thank you.”

Well, well.

Ethan had always been ambiguous regarding the existence of a higher power, much to the deep disappointment of his recently born-again mother. But after today, he may have to reconsider his overall position on the power of prayer. Because today simply can’t be all luck.

“So,” he says, “when you got up this morning, I’ll bet the thought never crossed your mind that you’d be stuck making conversation with me for three hours.”

She suppresses a smile and bites into her second Kit Kat stick. “Likewise, I could say.”

“At least I brought you chocolate.”

“You didn’t get that for me. It was already in your pocket.”

“True,” he admits, munching. “But I shared it and you know how I feel about chocolate.”

 

He offers to buy her a glass of wine and she politely declines, referencing the chocolate and saying that she’s used up all her sins for one day. He wonders is she’s sending him a message about more than the chocolate and he’s inexplicably disappointed for the first time since he saw her.

He thinks about shifting into the empty seat between them, but he isn’t sure she’d welcome it and he doesn’t want to push his luck. She’s warm and friendly and conversational, but he feels some kind of barrier there that could be indicative of more than just their shared history. He guesses she isn’t married. She’s always been pretty traditional at heart and if she was, she’d wear a ring. Divorced? Possibly.

“So what have you been up to these past years?” he asks. “Besides air travel.”

She smiles and shifts her hips so she’s facing him more. Her legs are crossed and he can’t help wishing she was wearing a skirt. But then again, he’s having a hard enough time ignoring the gap between the buttons of her blouse. She’s grown into her looks, trading girl next door pretty for a chicness that makes everything below his belt feel edgy and tight.

“Well,” she replies, drawing a deep breath, “I’m still with the Bureau, which you probably gathered.”

He nods. “I see your name in the news once in a while.” In his line of work, keeping up with the headlines is as necessary as breathing oxygen. He’s known she’s been in Washington all along, had even considered contacting her once or twice, but didn’t. He was with Victoria for a couple of years, and there were others before that. No one serious.  Bygone being bygones, it seemed best to keep moving forward.

He can’t really remember now what went wrong between them. Something about wanting different things and her commitment to her job and he’s pretty sure he was an asshole somewhere along the way too. Ultimatums were made.

He’s grown up a lot and he assumes she has too.

“Which division?” he asks.

“I’m still with the X Files.” If he isn’t imagining it, there’s a hint of defensiveness in her answer.

He’s stupid to push her, but he hasn’t won journalism awards for taking things at face value. “Really? I thought that was going to be a temporary assignment.”

Her reaction is an icy, tight smile. She stares out the window at the passing grey clouds.

“No, that’s great,” he amends. “If that’s turned into something good for you, then that’s great. Are you still partnered with that Mulder guy?”

Her eyes narrow almost imperceptibly. “You remember his name.”

“Of course I do. He’s not exactly a nobody. In fact, he’s pretty well-known in certain circles of the media.  There are rumors that he knows things.” 

She frowns. “What things?”

He shrugs with a half-hearted huff. “I never bothered to ask. That kind of thing doesn’t interest me, but I’m sure it’s the usual garbage – national conspiracies, your garden variety imaginary government whitewash. Like I said, I never bothered to follow any of it. I figured you checked out of the X Files years ago.”

“Well I didn’t,” she says curtly. She goes back to counting clouds.

His boat is sinking quickly and he has no idea when he sprung a leak. He decides to grab a bucket and start bailing. “Hey, don’t listen to me. Obviously I don’t know anything about him. All I remember is the Monty Props case when he was the media hero for months. Some say even a decade later that he’s the most brilliant mind in the Bureau.”

She seems to soften a little, risking eye contact again with him. He feels like he’s being visually stripped down while she decides if he’s worthy of the whole story. She blinks with a long, drawn-out sigh. “It’s- complicated. The work we do, it’s not what people assume it is. Over the years it’s become my crusade as much as it’s Mulder’s, so I’m sorry if I sound defensive, but it’s important to me. I’m committed to it - more than I ever thought I would be.” She sighs again, as if she had long ago grown weary of explaining herself to people like him. “The things I’ve seen and experienced, Ethan…they’ve challenged everything I’ve ever known to be true. It’s so hard to explain, but I just can’t imagine being this passionate about any other job. I mean, maybe if I went back into full-time medicine, but…”

His eyes travel her profile, studying her carefully. He can’t quite put his finger on it, but there’s a shadow of something just below the surface that wasn’t there seven years ago. It’s an intensity, a certain depth. A level of resilience and strength that only comes from having first-hand experience with pain and loss. He’s done and seen enough interviews with survivors to recognize it.

She’s been through hell and back.

Their eyes meet in a communicative look and he searches for a way over the chasm dividing them now, but he suspects it’s even deeper than he can fathom. He questions her silently. What’s happened to you? She holds his gaze, but reveals little. She is closed to him like a Morning Glory in the dark of night.

He used to hold her hand when she was upset and feel her soften to his touch.  He hasn’t been invited to do that now and he isn’t a presumptuous man. A transparency flashes in her eyes only for a heartbeat, but it’s enough to tell him that she knows he sees her now. The real her. All that has been shattered and put back together again.

He isn’t the one holding her hand anymore. But someone is.

 


	2. Chapter 2

He carried a teetering stack of dishes and found Dana standing over the sink in her mother’s kitchen, water running. She paused from scraping plates when she heard him come in, the double doors swinging shut with a whine. Her head tipped back and she regarded him with misty eyes.

“Are you all right?” he asked, resting a hand on her.

Her shoulders sank slightly beneath his touch, her barely contained emotions surrounding her like a force field. “I’m twenty-nine years old and he still has the ability to make me feel like I’m fourteen all over again.” Her voice broke on the last few words.

“Oh honey,” he said, turning the faucet off and gathering her to him, “your father is a very smart man, but he doesn’t know everything.”

“Why can’t he accept that this is the direction I’ve chosen for my life and just be happy for me? It’s not as if I’ve turned my back on medicine.”

“Joining the Bureau was your decision to make, not his.” He tightened his hold on her and her head came to rest on his shoulder. “He’ll come around.”

She sniffled, exhaustedly. “Easy for you to say. Your parents approve of your career.”

“Well, in all fairness, my father’s a drunk and he thinks I’m still in law school. But I do see your point.”

He smiled down at her and she huffed out a tiny laugh. This was an ongoing struggle for her, the pursuit of her father’s approval. He didn’t fully understand it, although he tried. His parents had long been disconnected from his life by circumstances – his father’s alcoholism, his mother’s need to enable him, and Ethan’s disgust with the entire situation. He saw them maybe twice a year, usually after a guilt-infused phone call from his older sister. The Scullys were the Waltons in comparison.

“He loves you,” he assured her, coaxing her chin up with his thumb. “And he’ll get over it.”

“I can’t believe you can say that,” she replied, with a supplicant smile. “You know my father. Since when does he get over anything?”

“He got over us living together.”

She bit her lip and winced slightly.

“You haven’t told them we’re living together.”

“I’m waiting for the right time,” she hedged, looking away.

He sighed, wearily. “Dana, it’s been three months. Were you thinking they might not notice my name next to yours on the mailbox and all my things in your apartment? You’re going to have to tell them, sooner or later.”

“I know that.” She touched the front of his shirt, absently tracing a small white button with her fingernail. “I’m Catholic, Ethan. It’s complicated.”

“Oh-kay…and I’ve suggested something a bit more permanent on a few occasions, you know I have.”

Her eyes glanced off his briefly and she wilted a little. They had been chasing this topic for a while now. If he thought for a minute she’d say yes, he would have asked her six months ago.

“It doesn’t mean I don’t want that, Ethan. It just means I’m not ready yet. You said you understood.”

He swept her hair aside so he could meet her eyes directly. “I said I accepted it. I didn’t say I understood. But I do think it’s only fair that you tell your parents we’re living together.”

He saw her eyes widen and felt the muscles in her arms tighten as she looked past him and he didn’t have to turn around to infer  they were no longer alone.

“Mom…” she said, pulling back from him.

Margaret Scully, who had paused in the kitchen doorway holding more dirty dishes, found her footing once again and continued past them to the sink. There was silence among the three of them as the water ran and stainless steel flatware scraped against ceramic.

“I didn’t mean for you to hear it this way,” Dana said finally. “I was going to tell you both.”

Her mother’s eyes were soft but steady, the set of her mouth inscrutable. “You’re a grown woman, Dana, I won’t tell you how to live your life. And I’m not naïve – I know things are different than when I was your age.”

“I’m sorry, Mom. I didn’t mean to keep it from you. I just didn’t think you’d approve.”

Maggie stacked plates into the bottom rack of the dishwasher. “I didn’t say I approved.”

“Are you going to tell Daddy?”

Her mother closed the dishwasher door and turned. “No, it’s your news. You should be the one to share it.” Maggie’s eyes moved from Dana’s to Ethan’s and back again and he saw a wisdom and empathy there that perhaps Dana didn’t always give her mother credit for. “He only wants what’s best for you. I know sometimes he has a strange way of showing it, but it’s the truth.”

Ethan stood there stoically, one arm draped loosely around Dana’s waist, feeling mildly scrutinized. He was no longer just the boyfriend. Not just the guy Dana brought to her cousin’s wedding. He was now the guy answering the phone in the morning while Dana was in the shower. The one sharing towels and closet space and a queen-sized bed. He was the other name on the Christmas cards.

He reached down and squeezed her hand and she squeezed back. The gesture did not go unnoticed.

“Well, I think it’s time for dessert,” Margaret Scully announced, opening the refrigerator and removing an apple pie. She set it on top of the counter top and handed her daughter a knife. “Your father prefers whipped cream with his. I’ll get the coffee.”

  

**

“You’re wearing it, aren’t you,” he says, eyes shifting down to her waist.

She lifts the corner of her blazer so he can see the criss cross pattern on the hard rubber handle.

They’re both drinking Diet Cokes now and munching chipmunk-sized bags of airline peanuts.

“And they don’t give you a hassle getting through security?”

She appears amused by him. “Well, the badge helps.”

 He shakes his head and smiles. “You carry it everywhere? Like to the grocery store and the movies and the gym?”

“This is my FBI- issued weapon. I have a personal one that’s smaller, but yes, I am usually armed.”

“You never used to be when you were off-duty. At least not that I recall.”

“I wasn’t?” she asks, thoughtfully. “Huh. I guess I don’t remember.”

 

They play the game of question and answer about the safe, small stuff. It goes on for at least an hour and is surprisingly interesting. His family, her family, his job promotion, places they’ve traveled, books they’ve read, which of their favorite old restaurants have closed, if it seems like this past winter was colder than the last, people they knew who are married now, others who are divorced, foreign policy, global warming, gun control.

“Dan and Heather are still married, believe it or not,” he says. “I’ll admit that I wasn’t sure it would last.”

She leans her head back against the headrest. “God, I haven’t heard those names in a long time.”

“They’ve got three kids now.”

“I don’t think she invited me to their wedding, come to think of it,” she admits.

He grimaces a little. “I was Dan’s best man. They got married the summer after we broke up. I think she figured it might be awkward.”

She manages an ah-ha tight-lipped smile.

“You didn’t miss much. The air conditioning in the catering van broke and everyone got food poisoning from spoiled chicken cordon bleu.”

They both laugh.

He figures it’s as good an opening as any. “So…what about you?” He raises a curious brow at her.

She rubs her hands together, suppressing a shiver and reaches up to adjust the air vent. Her fitted white blouse is doing a pitiful job of disguising the fact that she’s cold and he’s fairly certain she caught his wandering eyes. “What about me?”

“Ever take a trip down the aisle?” he presses, boldly.

She shakes her head, not meeting his eyes. “No. No, I haven’t. You?”

“Nope,” he sighs. “I think I got about seventy-five percent of the way there a couple of years ago.”

Her brows arch at him. “What happened?” Before he can answer, she holds up an apologetic hand. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry. It’s not my place to ask-“

“You didn’t. I brought it up.” He blows air out of his puffed cheeks and sits up a little more. “Kids, basically,” he says with a shrug. “I wanted them; she didn’t. I had hoped she’d change her mind eventually, but…“ He lets his thought trail off, unfinished, a perfect metaphor for a lot of things in his life.

“Ah,” she says, with sympathy in her eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“Eh. I guess it’s a good thing we figured it out before we got married.” He studies his hands for a moment, allowing the conversation to hang, waiting to see if she’ll choose another direction, but she seems comfortable with this one.

“So are you, uh, seeing anyone?” he ventures, thumbing his nose at the elephant sitting in the seat between them.

She takes a deep breath and tips her head back, eyes narrowing slightly as if the answer is just out of reach. “Seeing anyone…” she repeats, musingly.

“Significant other? Boyfriend? Other half?” he prompts, helpfully. “If that’s what they’re calling it these days.”

After several contemplative moments, she swivels her head to look directly at him. “I don’t know,” she answers, matter-of-factly, with emphasis on each word.

He chuckles. “You don’t know.” It certainly isn’t the answer he was expecting.

She smiles easily at him, those china blues revealing little.

“It’s usually a yes or no question,” he says with a perplexed look. “But I suppose there could be variances.”

“Let’s just say it’s complicated.”

“Isn’t it always?” he chuckles in agreement. “But what you’re saying is that there is someone.”

Her expression is soft, vulnerable, and when she answers, her voice is low. “Yes. There is someone.”

He nods in reluctant acceptance, feeling suddenly deflated.  It’s like someone just ripped a Band-Aid off him quickly and it’s taking a minute to register the sting. “So…if I asked you to dinner sometime…”

Her smile is kind and she actually has the grace to look regretful. “Ethan…” A faint blush appears. “I’m sorry, I can’t-“

“No, I know. It’s okay,” he interjects, thinking he can do without hearing the full rejection speech in all its familiar glory. “It’s just that this is so easy between us... comfortable, you know. I’m having a hard time remembering exactly where it all went wrong.” He glances away. “So you see my dilemma.”

He can feel the heat of her eyes on him. Time passes. “Ethan, I’m not the same person I used to be. A lot has changed.”

“I know,” he admits, quietly. “I’m not the same person either. But maybe that’s a good thing. Maybe it could be different this time.” When he sees the look on her face, he instantly feels pathetic and wishes he hadn’t said it.

“Ethan, I can’t. And let me assure you, it has nothing to do with you.”

The silence sits between them for a moment, but it doesn’t feel entirely painful. It’s almost expected, like the last few pages of a good book that you knew were coming.

“Are you in love with him?” he blurts.

Her eyes snap towards him, wide and sharp. An incredulous, but amused laugh escapes her. “You never did mince words, did you?”

“Sorry.” He raises a hand. “I’m sorry. I withdraw the question, your honor.”

Besides, he’s pretty damn sure he already knows the answer.

 **

The water was on in the bathroom and the door closed, so he couldn’t tell if she was crying. He carefully turned the bed down, stacked throw pillows on the rocking chair in the corner, then made a last pass through the apartment in his dress shirt and boxers, checking locks and turning off lights.

The kitchen was clean – leftovers all packed in foil and crowding the refrigerator shelves. The dishwasher hummed and sloshed dutifully. He took a cursory glance at the calendar on the refrigerator. She had penned “Hair 5:00” for tomorrow and “Atlanta” on the next day, with an arrow extending to the weekend. He sighed. He didn’t remember her saying anything about going to Georgia. But then again, the number of words they’d spoken to one another in the past few days would probably fit onto a Post-It note.

Her still-packed bag with the airline tag from Chicago attached, sat in the corner of the living room where she’d left it. He fought against the temptation to just turn on the TV and avoid the bedroom altogether, but his exhaustion got the better of him and he scuffled down the hall.   

She was in bed facing away from him with her bare arm clutching the sheets tightly when he finished stripping down. He clicked off the lamp, plunging the room into darkness and climbed in, waiting for his eyes to adjust so he could see her again.

After several minutes of silence, he whispered, “Are you asleep?”

“No,” she whispered back.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

She rolled to her back with an audible sigh. “We have talked about it. More times than I can count. And I feel like I don’t know what else to say to make you understand that this isn’t just a job to me.”

“I know that. But God, Dana, you’re gone more than you’re home and when you are here, I feel like I have to compete for your attention. Last week, I think we slept in the same bed together two nights.”

“Is that what this is about,” she asked, her tone sharp, “the fact that I turned you down last night?”

“It’s not about the sex,” he said, “although now that you mention it, it might be nice once in a blue moon.”

“You knew when I went into field work that there would be a significant amount of travel, Ethan. We talked it.”

He struggled to keep his voice low. “And you said that it would be temporary. You said -“

“I said nothing of the kind!” she interrupted. “I said I had no idea how permanent it would be. It’s not a standard assignment.”

“Obviously,” he grumbled.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she snapped.

He flipped the covers off, feeling too warm. She refused to run the air conditioner at night and that pissed him off too. “It means what it means! Exactly what the hell is it that you do? People ask me and I have no fucking idea what to tell them. Stalking Bigfoot? Chasing ghosts? Scouting out UFO’s? Are you doing alien autopsies now too?”

She launched herself up to a seated position, her back against the headboard, and he didn’t have to see her eyes to know exactly how she was looking at him. “Oh forgive me!” she hissed. “Forgive me for having a job that’s an embarrassment to you! Go ahead and lie if your image is that important to you.”

“I’m not embarrassed, it’s just…” He couldn’t even think straight anymore. He was so sick and tired of arguing. And the truth was, maybe he was a little embarrassed.

She huffed and tipped her head back, blinking up into the darkness to keep her eyes from overflowing. The sheet was low on her waist and the thin strap of her nightie had slipped down her arm. Despite his anger, or perhaps because of it, he was even more aroused than usual by the swell of her breasts beneath the silk. He punched his fist into a thick feather pillow in frustration and then shoved it under his arm and got out of bed. “I’ll be on the couch.”    

 

 **

Their plane lands at half past eight, ten minutes ahead of schedule. She’s asleep with her head cushioned on her folded blazer, nestled against the hard molded plastic of the window. A half hour ago, she looked cold, so he had draped his trench coat over her. It pools around her now, covering all but her head and stockinged feet. Her shoes have been kicked off onto the blue flecked carpet under her seat. He had come close to drifting off too, except that he couldn’t stop watching her sleep.

He wonders who it is she dreams of now.

She startles awake at the first lurch of the wheels hitting the tarmac and sits up straight. When she looks at him with foggy eyes, he knows it isn’t him she’s expecting to see.

He remains still, watching her gradual awakening process with interest. She pulls her arms from beneath his coat and stretches like a baby colt.

“Hi,” he says, gingerly. “Welcome to Dulles International Airport, where the local time is now 8:34 p.m. and the temperature is fifty-eight degrees.”

She smiles, covering a lingering yawn with the back of her hand. “God, I hardly ever sleep on planes.” Her feet search the floor for her shoes.

Sounds of clinking seatbelts and shuffling surround them as passengers ignore the flight crew instructions to wait until the aircraft finishes taxiing. A child cries several rows back and he wonders if it’s one of the twins he met in Seattle. He doesn’t know the first thing about traveling with infants. He doesn’t know the first thing about kids period. He just always assumed he’d have good instincts when the time came, but at thirty-six, he’s beginning to wonder if he’ll ever get the chance to prove that theory.

She slides his coat back over to him and says thanks. He wants to press his face to it and see if it smells like her, but she’s still smiling at him and he doesn’t want to scare her.

“Do you need a ride home?” he asks, auspiciously. “I left my car at the airport.”

“Thank you,” she smiles, “but my partner is supposed to be picking me up.” She checks her watch. “We’ve got some paperwork to finish on this case.”

“Ah, the infamous Fox Mulder,” he replies in a light-hearted tone. “A little late on a school night, isn’t it,” he jokes, “to be pushing papers?”

She flips open her phone to check missed calls. “Yeah well, it’s not exactly a nine-to-five job.”

They wait while others around them prepare to disembark, clunking suitcases from overhead compartments and zipping jackets, ducking and squeezing in the small spaces. When the aisle is relatively clear, he pulls her carry-on bag down for her. “So,” he says.

She smiles warmly and goes to hug him first. “It was really good to see you again, Ethan.” She’s soft and her silky hair tickles his chin. Her hand pats his back twice.

There doesn’t seem to be much else to say. The usual platitudes, like “Let’s have lunch sometime” and “I’ll give you a call” don’t exactly work in this particular situation, and “Have a nice life” is too final for him to admit to.

He settles on “This was really nice,” along with an honest smile and it seems to fit.

She nods and squeezes his hand affectionately. “Yeah, it was.”

“Stay safe out there, catching all those bad guys.”

She swings her blazer on and shifts her purse onto her shoulder. “I’ll do my best.” They stand there, smiling at each other half a minute longer than necessary, until her eyes shift down and he realizes they’re the last two people on the plane.

In the airport, Ethan drags himself off to the side. Makes a to-do of tucking things into his briefcase and busying himself with his phone while he stakes her out. He could have been blatantly staring, for all it mattered. She’s no longer concerned with him, her eyes scanning the throngs of heads in the crowd until she finds the one she’s looking for.

The object of her interest waves once in acknowledgment and then weaves toward her, his long coat flapping around him. Her face lights up like the Fourth of July and Ethan swallows dryly. It’s that moment when you realize you’ve been looking for something everywhere, except right under your own damn nose.

“Fox Mulder, you sly devil,” he mutters out loud.

They stand close together, talking, people parting around them like the Red Sea. She looks up at him, arms crossed, and purses her mouth at something he says, but her eyes are smiling back, challenging him. He places a hand under her elbow and she tucks her hair and wets her lips, invitingly. Neither of them seems at all distracted by the bustle of activity around them. They are entirely absorbed by one another, like there’s some sort of magical bubble surrounding them.

Ethan suddenly feels like a voyeur. Like he’s watching the bizarre mating ritual of some exotic species of animal. Despite minimal physical contact, their communication is strikingly intimate.

One thing is painfully clear to Ethan now. He never stood a chance in hell with her on that plane. She may have been in love with him at one time, but she never looked at him like that. In her universe, it’s obvious that Fox Mulder hung the moon.

When they finally begin to walk, his hand is braced protectively at her lower back, and he’s pulling her bag behind them. They continue their conversation, unabated, and he bends his head down to hers frequently, his cheek brushing her forehead. She’s moving her hands and arguing with him about something and he looks both amused and impressed. In fact, he looks like he’d really prefer to just back her up against a wall and shut her up that way.

Yeah I know, Pal. She used to pull the same stuff on me – spouting scientific jargon like a verbal blow job. She never did give any ground on arguments. It’s one of the things he loved most about her.

The day isn’t turning out like Ethan had hoped. Not by any stretch of the imagination. But he still wouldn’t change it. He’s glad he ran into her in a Seattle airport on a rainy Tuesday in April. Even if she is hopelessly in love with someone else. Someone tall and intense and complicated and spooky.

Maybe relationships, like life, are supposed to move linearly. Maybe there really are no second chances. Oscar Wilde once said, “No man is rich enough to buy back his past.” Nothing lasts forever and that’s probably a good thing. Hopefully he’s a better person today than he was seven years ago, and so is she.

Still, he’ll never forget what she felt like the first time he kissed her, outside her apartment in the pouring rain. Or the weekend he took her to his uncle’s cabin and they watched the sun rise each morning over the Adirondacks, naked and wrapped in blankets. These are the things that he will recall from time to time. Fossilized memories. Snapshots of life’s perfect moments.   

He loses sight of them in the flow of the crowd, their forms merging together, black jackets like floating phantoms. Ethan veers left and makes his way toward ground transportation, disappearing into the night.

 

The end


End file.
